Beane Odette - Reawakened - A Once Upon A Time Tale

— Have a nice day, Miss Blanchard, — Regina finally said. — I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.

She left just as the bell started to ring.

Emma went straight to Mr. Gold’s pawnshop after she left the school. She was intent on following through with her plan to get custody of Henry once and for all. She was scared that it would disrupt his life, and she knew that Regina would put up a fight, but there was something about the way she’d acted last night — perhaps she’d let slip a part of the facade and showed, for a moment, her truest colors? — that made it no longer possible to delay. There was one lawyer in town she knew could win against Regina, even though she didn’t trust him. She had few options.

Inside the shop, Mr. Gold was behind his desk, looking through some papers.

— Ah, — he said, seeing her come in. — Ms. Swan.

— I have to save him, Gold, — Emma said. — I have to get Henry away from Regina.

He nodded thoughtfully.

— I must admit, — he said, — your intentions are admirable. Removing Henry from her custody after what we’ve seen her do to Mary Margaret does seem like the best course of action. — He nodded to himself. — However, — he added, — I can’t take the case.

This was not what Emma was expecting to hear.

— How can you say that? — she said. — You know what Regina did.

— Yes, but we can’t prove it, — he said. — I’m sorry, Ms. Swan, but I’ve made up my mind, — he said. — Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m just about to leave.

Emma put a hand down on the desk in front of him.

— Change your mind, — she said.

— I know how to pick my battles, — he responded. — This is not one we can win.

— Why are you suddenly scared of her?

— I’m not scared. I’m afraid I’m simply not the person who can help you beat Regina. This time.

She was furious, but there was always something with Gold — always a trick. The way he was smiling, she realized he was implying that somebody else would help. Somebody, perhaps, better suited.

And then she saw it.

— I guess you’re not, — she said.

She went straight to the inn, asked Granny for the room number, and was soon pounding on August’s door. She heard some movement inside, and after a minute, he opened it. Emma’s first thought: He looks haggard.

— Take it easy, take it easy, — he said. — Is everything okay?

— No, — she said. — It’s not. I’m just about out of options.

— Just about? — he said, cocking his head.

— You said that if I want to beat Regina, I have to see the big picture. Do you remember?

He nodded.

— Well. I need to see the big picture. — A little grin crept across August’s face. — Show it to me.

— Okay, — he said. — I will.

They took his motorcycle. Soon they were tearing down the road out of Storybrooke, Emma holding his waist, her helmeted head pressing against his leather jacket. As they crossed the town line and headed toward the interstate, Emma realized that this was the first time she’d been out of Storybrooke since the night she’d arrived with Henry. How was it possible that her world had been so overturned? That her life had become something else entirely? Henry’s warnings about leaving Storybrooke rang through her head, but she discounted them. She didn’t know where they were going, but August apparently had a destination in mind. Fifteen minutes later they were cruising at eighty back toward Boston, August expertly weaving past the slower vehicles. What was it about this man? He knew something. She knew he knew something. Whatever it was, she was about to find out.

With August driving, it did not take them long to get to the outskirts of Boston.

August piloted them down a forgotten road, and soon they were back in the woods, still far from the urban population of Boston. He slowed as they approached a dusty old diner on the side of the road; Emma couldn’t even tell if it was operational.

August stopped, and Emma got off the bike and removed her helmet.

— What the hell, — she said, looking at the diner, — are we doing?

— Revisiting history.

— Can you stop screwing around, please? — she asked. — I’m not a character in one of your books. Tell me what we’re doing here.

— I think you know, — he said. — I think that’s why you’re so upset. — He nodded toward the diner. — You’ve been here before.

Emma squinted at the diner and tried to remember any time in the last few years she’d been here. August watched her for a moment, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded newspaper clipping.

The headline read seven-year-old boy finds baby girl on side of highway.

— You see the diner in the background? — August asked. — That’s this one. This is where that boy brought you.

She looked back at the diner, but she didn’t have to. She knew that they were the same. And that he was telling the truth.

— You brought me to the place I was found, — Emma said defensively. — Big deal. Why?

— This is my story, too. Yours and mine — it’s the same story.

— How is that?

— That seven-year-old boy who found you? — He nodded once more. — That was me, Emma. — He pointed to the picture of the boy. — That was me.

Emma followed August in silence as he led her through the woods. Being here made her think of her parents’ choice to leave her. She had been dumped, like garbage, by the people who were supposed to take care of her. This walk was stirring up the old rage, which she’d worked so hard, for so many years, to suppress.

— Why are we in the woods? — she asked August, mostly to distract herself from the growing cyclone in her stomach.

— The answers are all out here, — he said. — Right where I found you.

Emma stopped walking. After a moment, August glanced back, saw her, and turned as well. He reached out and braced himself with the trunk of a tree.

— You’re not that boy, — Emma said. — You know how I know? I wasn’t found in the woods. I was found by the road. Near that diner.

— Why do you think that? — asked August. — Because you read it in the newspaper? Did it ever occur to you that maybe the seven-year-old boy might have lied about where he found you?

— It occurs to me that you’ve been lying to me, — she said. — About everything. And that I’ve been eating it up because I’m vulnerable, and you know that. — She shook her head. She was not going to cry in front of him, no matter what this place was doing to her. — I’m done listening.

He took a pained step toward her.

— When I found you, — he said, — you were wrapped in a blanket. It was white with purple ribbon around the edges. And the name «Emma» was embroidered along the bottom of it.

— That wasn’t in the article, was it? — August asked.

Emma told herself he could have found it; he could have seen it in the apartment.

— No, — said Emma, — but it’s not very convincing. Why would you lie about where you found me? All the way back then?

— To protect you, — he said plainly.

— Protect me? — she said. — Protect me from what?

August took a breath, then went back across the trail to the big tree. It was no different from any of the others around, at least not on first glance. Emma watched August as he went to it, though, and she could see, once he was there, that the middle of the tree was hollow.

— No one could know where you really came from, — August said.

— I came from a tree?

— You know the stories from Henry’s book, right? You know about the curse in those stories, and how you play a role in them. Am I right? It’s true, Emma, — August said. — All of it. We both came into this world through that tree. Just like we both left the last world through a wardrobe.